


Drink Deep in the Morning

by GordandV



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Brotherly Bonding, Dick Grayson Tries to Be a Good Older Sibling, Found Family, Gen, Jason Todd Tries to Be a good Younger Sibling, Magical Realism, Mental Health Issues, Platonic Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:46:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GordandV/pseuds/GordandV
Summary: “I got you,” Dick says as he jumps over the pole, acknowledges the other dented car is out of the immediate danger zone, and then grabs the lines nearest Jason with his bare hands. “I got you.”
Relationships: Jason Todd & Dick Grayson
Comments: 46
Kudos: 243





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> V started this in May of 2020 and kept adding scenes... She just wanted to write some platonic brotherly bonding, okay? And after this year, she wanted some of her own happy endings, even if they were just written for fanfiction.
> 
> There's some real life issues/challenges in this, but nothing graphic, hence the Teen rating.
> 
> V's cycled through so many various Batman media types, she's not even going to try and bother explaining where she's pulled some things from.
> 
> Dedicated to Gord who only knows this fic as "Pixie Sticks" due to this chapter. Finally posting it, happy now?

_Angry words and honking cars_

_Satellites and falling stars_

_Distant dark blue radios that whisper down my boulevards_

_Ghosts and chains rattle in the attic_

_Broken headphones filled with static_

_Lonely room you've got nowhere to run_

_Slamming doors and cell phone rings_

_Hurricane force of silent screams_

_Don't know what to believe_

_Bend the rule just to break it_

_You're so tired 'cause to got to fake it_

_But you just wanna be someone_

_3, 2, 1 for all and all for 1_

_Times will be bad times will be good_

_Things I wish I hadn't done and some I wish I would_

_Cutting through the American noise_

_You've got a voice and a song to sing_

_Drink deep in the morning_

_Drink deep in the morning_

_See what the day will bring_

-“American Noise” Skillet

“Azarath, Metrion, Zinthos. Azarath, Metrion, Zinthis. Azarath, Met- Yes?”

Jason shuffles through Dick’s half open door and drops the hand he had been going to knock with. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I didn’t know you were…” He motions vaguely.

Dick cracks one eye. “Meditating.”

Jason nods. “Yeah, that. Sorry.” He breaks eye contact with Dick and starts to leave. “I’ll just go.”

Dick sighs, uncrosses his legs, and then stretches both his arms above his head. “It’s fine. Not really my thing anyways.”

Jason hesitates and rocks a bit on the balls of his socked feet, clearly curious but trying not to pry too much. “Did that witch lady teach you?”

Dick snorts a bit. “You mean Raven?”

Jason nods. “Yeah, the witch lady.” He drops his voice a bit. “She’s kind of scary.”

Dick rolls his eyes and then swings his legs over the side of his bed. “She’s not so bad once you get to you know her. What’s up, Jason?”

Jason makes a face. “Nothing.”

“You walked all the way to my room for something. I’d like to know what it is.”

Jason mumbles something to himself and then looks over his shoulder. “If I had known you were meditating, I wouldn’t have bothered you. Sorry.”

“Well, I’m done now.” Dick pats the side of his bed. “You want to sit?”

“I just wanted a slushy,” Jason blurts as color creeps across the bridge of his nose. “And Bruce and Alfred won’t take me. Bruce is stuck on some call and Alfred’s baking and can’t leave the kitchen for the next two hours. I was… I was hoping you’d take me.”

Dick just grins; Jason’s had his driving permit for all of two weeks and is always looking for an excuse to go out. “Alright, sure, I’ll take you.”

Jason brightens. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why not? Go get your shoes.”

Jason frowns. “You don’t have to. I can wait for Bruce, or Alfred can take me tomorrow-”

“You want a cherry slushy or not?” Dick interrupts with a smile. “Because I think I’m in the mood for one now, and I’ll just leave you behind if you don’t want to come-” Dick stops short when Jason launches himself at him and wraps Dick in a big hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!”

Dick hugs Jason back and just takes a few seconds to savor it. Jason seems to sense Dick’s thoughts and squeezes extra hard.

“You don’t _have_ to,” Jason murmurs. “I can make Bruce take me later and bring one back for you.”

“Maybe I just want to see you try and parallel park,” Dick counters.

Jason tries to pull back, but Dick latches on and then flips Jason (with care) onto his bed. They spend the next few minutes trying to get the upper hand on one another, and then Jason starts fighting dirty and goes for Dick’s ticklish spots until they’re both panting and spread out on the comforter. Jason grabs Dick’s hand and twines their fingers together when Dick stops laughing and rolls his head to the side.

“Hey,” Jason says firmly as he sits up to pull Dick’s attention away from the little orange bottle on his bedside table. “You’re fine.” He jiggles their joined hands. “Let’s go get slushies.”

Everyone else likes to tell Dick he’s _going_ to be fine. That’s this will _eventually_ pass. But they’re not the ones who have had to move back home during summer break to get away from college and running an underage vigilante squad because their depression has decided to come back with a vengeance. Dick doesn’t mind the drugs, he knows they’re going to help, they’ve helped before, he just wishes that it would work _now_ so that he wouldn’t have to deal with Bruce and Alfred treating him kid gloves.

“We’re going for slushies,” Dick calls into the kitchen as he grabs a set of aviator sunglasses for himself for the hour or so of sun left before sunset. “You want anything, Alfred?”

Alfred’s waves a hand from the stove and a pot of barely bubbling yellow mush that smells suspiciously like custard. “No, thank you. Have fun. Be safe!”

Jason gets a running start from the side hall and slides halfway into the kitchen on his socks. “Right, so vanilla shake,” he says. “Bruce wants chocolate.” Jason heads for the walls of keys and Dick just smiles and leans his hip against the nearest marble counter to watch Jason.

Dick had jokingly said that Jason was going to get Dick’s old Porsche for his sixteenth birthday when they had been planning the party, and Jason had started crying; Dick, the idiot, had thought it was because Jason didn’t want a hand-me-down car since Dick had gotten his new. Because, even after settling in at the Manor, Jason’s still incredibly down to earth; he had started crying because hadn’t even considered the stereotypical sweet sixteen presents. Every year, Jason just hoped for maybe a cake and a few wrapped boxes. And every year he got exactly that, plus whatever Bruce had bullied him into writing down on a birthday list which was usually nothing extravagant, nothing too big, nothing expensive. Jason has the biggest sock collection Dick’s ever seen, and Jason’s religious about wearing every single pair.

Dick had to go through Jason’s friends at school, a few other vigilantes, and maybe hack a few texts to actually figure out what type of car Jason wanted. Not even Bruce casually throwing into conversation how nice the new Bugattis were looking for next year and how Jason was free to look at them (despite their three million dollar price tag) would open up Jason’s mouth despite the clear invitation that price wasn’t a problem. And Dick had gotten the make and model down, but he didn’t have the color, so Alfred had brought Jason into the kitchen a few weeks before his birthday to help him make dinner and asked him point blank; Jason had hemmed and hawed a bit before answering. And then on Jason’s sixteenth birthday, Jason had woken up and headed outside to get taken to school and had found a shiny black ’67 Impala in the front drive with a big red bow on the hood and banner taped the windows that simply read “Happy Birthday, Jason!” in big blocky rainbow letters.

Jason’s clearly in love with his car, but it’s also obvious he doesn’t want to take it out where other drivers might hit her (“of course she’s a girl!” Jason had informed Bruce, and he had sounded quite offended about having to distinguish his car’s gender). Dick knows the fear will wear off in a few more months once Jason’s more comfortable driving, but for now, taking the Impala solely out around the Manor is good enough for Jason. In the meantime, he’s grown quite fond of a black Mercedes Benz that Dick thinks Bruce bought last year, drove once, and forgot about; Jason goes for Mercedes keyring and holds it up for Dick like he’s asking permission. Jason has free reign of every car in the garage except for Alfred’s Rolls Royce which not even Bruce is allowed to drive.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dick says. “You have your permit?”

Jason had a folded up piece of paper already in hand, his own sunglasses perched on top of his head, and a wad of cash in his pocket from chores. Dick has a cooler already on the counter for Alfred’s and Bruce’s drinks, and he offers a mock salute at Alfred as they head for the garage.

“Drive safely!” Alfred calls after them. “Have fun!”

Jason’s an excellent driver; Dick’s sure all the practice driving the Batmobile has helped, but even so, he’s glad to see Jason’s hand hovering over the ignition until Dick has his seatbelt on. The top of the car retracts, and then Jason shifts the Mercedes into neutral so that they can roll onto the gravel outside of the smooth garage floor. Dick tilts his seat back a bit, toes one shoe off, and props his foot up on the door.

“I need that side mirror,” Jason says as he shifts and they hit the asphalt outside the gate.

“You do not,” Dick replies, although he does put his foot down. “But if it makes you feel better…”

Dick turns on the radio, turns the volume up, and waits for Jason to smile; he knows Jason isn’t trying to feel like the cool kid in the hundred-grand convertible who gets to drive around with his brother just to show off, but even Jason needs to ease off the humble pie every now and then.

“Let’s take the long way,” Dick suggests. “You okay going on the highway?”

Jason just snorts; he had merged onto the interstate doing ninety in the Batmobile, an arguable tank, because Bruce had gotten stabbed, two days after Bruce had started teaching him how to drive stick.

“Am I okay going on the highway,” Jason repeats with an eye roll and grin. “Yes, I am.”

It’s nearing the end of summer which means the highway is mostly deserted for a Tuesday. Families have already retreated to their shore homes, and Jason hits the onramp doing thirty-five as they curve around a jug handle. Dick feels Jason downshift, so Dick cover’s Jason’s hand.

“Shift.”

Jason does.

“Shift.”

Jason hits the clutch and feathers it out with the gas while Dick moves the gearshift.

“Once more.”

Jason’s already doing sixty-five when the single solid white line turns dotted.

“Last time,” Dick says, and Jason hesitates before slamming the clutch down; the car purrs loudly, and Jason pulls his hand free to grab the steering wheel so that he can put on his blinker and pull in front of an eighteen-wheeler with more than enough room to spare. Dick twists in his seat to wave and offer a thumbs-up and point at Jason; the trucker gives a soft honk in return, and Jason slides into the center lane.

The slushy place is a hole-in-the-wall freestanding building down a side road. The parking lot is dirt and gravel, and Dick isn’t surprised to see a line and most of the metal picnic tables already taken. There’s no indoor seating, just three windows for ordering, and Dick has Jason park away from the other cars; he’s not stupid, they’re still technically in Gotham, and while everyone around is families with babies, teenagers, a few small group in their thirties, Dick doesn’t want to risk Jason’s first few weeks of semi-freedom being ruined by some asshole trying to jack Bruce’s Mercedes. That, or someone accidentally hitting Jason and having to call the police for a fender bender.

Jason turns the music down once they’re parked, suddenly self-conscious, and shuts the car off. He goes for the button to close up the convertible, but Dick grabs his wrist.

“You just stay here, I’ll go order,” he says as he pulls off his seatbelt. “You wanted watermelon, right?”

Jason nods and goes for his wallet, intent on giving Dick some money, but Dick just hops over the door.

“I got it.”

“But, I was going to pay-”

“Sorry, you drove,” Dick teases. “So that means I have to pay.”

Dick returns ten minutes later with one white Styrofoam cup in hand and a tray of three other drinks balanced perfectly on his head. If it were anyone else, Jason would be nervous they’d drop the tray, but Dick’s balance is something to be admired.

“Pop a squat,” Dicks says seriously, so Jason climbs into the back seat and sits himself on the trunk with his shoes on the expensive faux-leathering seating.

Dick grabs the tray off his head, and Jason grabs the cup with a messy WTML scribbled on the side. The two other shakes get put in the cooler already filled with icepacks and closed. Dick takes a seat beside Jason and they sip. It’s a warm summer night, hot and humid without being uncomfortable, and soon the pair are slurping at empty cups.

“Alright, let’s throw this out and head home,” Dick says. “I would not be opposed to taking the long way home. You know, for practice.”

“Night driving practice,” Jason agrees as he hands his empty cup over before vaulting himself to the front seat and turning the engine on. Music starts to play. “Hurry up!”

Dick’s halfway across the parking lot when he hears an engine roar, tires screech, the distinct crunch of wood, and then something big and heavy hit the ground. He whips around and heads for the Mercedes at a sprint. There’s a wooden pole on the ground and electrical wires draped all over the car that are already smoking; electricity hums in the air, and Dick’s only partially surprised to see Jason sitting perfectly still in the driver’s seat. It’s a miracle Jason hasn’t already been electrocuted given how the lines are draped, but Dick knows once wrong move could kill him instantly.

“I got you,” Dick says as he jumps over the pole, acknowledges the other dented car is out of the immediate danger zone, and then grabs the lines nearest Jason with his bare hands. “I got you.”

Jason’s shaking from head, already teary-eyed and pale.

“You’re alright,” Dick soothes. “You’re safe now.”

Most people think Dick’s magic is air orientated or gravity related; surely the _Flying_ Graysons passed on something to Dick. But, no, Dick’s magic is all about electricity; his acrobatics are natural skill and hard work. It’s why Nightwing fights with electrified escrima sticks; they pack a punch all on their own, but it’s easier to hide magic behind something non-magical to keep Dick Grayson and the vigilante separate. It’s why Dick’s been careful to flaunt his magic over the years, to show the world that it’s there, that’s it something he uses. Grabbing livewires is nothing; Dick’s grabbed worse at nuclear reactor plants. He just needs to be careful he doesn’t kill the power grid by accident.

By the time the police and fire department and proper power companies have arrived, Dick’s hair is sticking up and he’s got a buzz under his skin that has everything to do with the electricity he’s been channeling. That, and his eyes are glowing like a glow stick and leaking wisps of blue out of the corners from too much magic usage. Jason hasn’t moved an inch from the car, and he refuses to do so even when one of the power company employees walks over to the Mercedes and tries to coax him out to be looked over.

“Come on kid, it’s safe now.”

Jason’s still white-knuckling the steering wheel. Robin has taught him more than a few things about staying calm, about processing fear, but right now Jason’s not Robin; he’s just some poor sixteen year-old who was this close to getting electrocuted.

“Come on, Jason, I’ll drive home.” Dick gently shoulders his way past the employee and offers one hand to Jason. “I’ll make sure he gets looked over.”

Jason reluctantly gets out of the car and lets Dick guide him around the front of the scratched hood to the passenger side. Dick pulls Jason’s seatbelt on and then goes back to the driver’s seat.

“You sure you’re okay?” the employee repeats as Dick starts the car. “You just had how many thousand volts running through you?”

Dick just shrugs. “Not really a big deal for me, my magic’s electricity.” He pats Jason’s thigh. “You have our contact info, I’m sure our lawyer will be in contact with you soon. Hope you have a nice rest of the night.”

The other driver of the car who crashed into the pole is clearly drunk.

“Phone?” Dick requests once they’re on the highway.

Jason hands his over to Dick who takes it in one hand. There’s a single spark, and Jason’s battery immediately hits 100%.

“You alright?” Dick asks once they’re halfway up the winding road to the Manor. “You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to.”

“‘m okay,” Jason mumbles. “Tired.”

Probably in shock, no pun intended, but Dick knows Jason will bounce back after nine hours of solid rest.

Bruce and Alfred are already in the driveway when Dick pulls up. It’s pitch black out, and this far from Gotham and close to the ocean, the sky is clear. Stars dot the sky. There’s a cool breeze in the air.

“We’re both fine,” Dick says before anyone gets the chance to speak. “Jason got a serious adrenaline rush and would probably appreciate a hot bath and maybe a sleeping pill tonight.” Because Dick _knows_ Jason is wondering what would have happened if Dick hadn’t been there; Dick’s thinking the same exact thing. Magic isn’t exactly rare, but it’s still far from commonplace, and while Jason could have been ok without Dick, there’s the chance that a line could have shifted and hit Jason with almost five thousand volts.

Dick watches Alfred put an arm around Jason and walk him to the house; he stays in the driver’s seat while Bruce approaches with care.

“There’s nothing I can say that will make any of this right or better,” Bruce says gently.

Dick just nods. His teeth ache.

“The only thing I will say is that I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but if it had to happen, I’m glad it was you and Jason.”

Bruce goes for a pat on Dick’s arm, but Dick pulls back. “Don’t,” Dick snaps, and Bruce freezes. “Sorry.” Dick sighs. “I just… I’m all static-y right now. I’m going to go jump in the pool. Can you put the car away?”

Bruce just nods. Dick exits the car, leaves the key in the ignition, and then heads for the backyard and one of the massive outdoor pools. There’s already lights on in the pool and cycling through the rainbow, and Dick dumps his phone and wallet on a big round glass table before checking all the filters for any frogs or small animals that might have gotten stuck. Once he’s sure he’s alone, Dick kicks his shoes and socks off, jackknifes into the pool, and then watches the water above him steam and sizzle until there’s a thin layer of mist. He breaks the surface with a gasp, shakes his head to get his bangs out of his face, and then spreads himself out on his back so he can stare up at the sky. A few wayward sparks jump across the surface of the pool like water bugs; the big discharge is over, and Dick lets a little more of his magic go until he’s thoroughly exhausted, bordering on delirious, and (metaphorically speaking) running on empty.

Dick strokes over to the nearest ladder, hauls himself out of the pool, and isn’t surprised to see Bruce waiting for him with a big towel, plastic tarp, and thick rubber apron and matching gloves already on. Bruce wraps him in the towel first before draping the tarp around Dick with care; Dick isn’t particularly dangerous at the moment, but he’s accidentally zapped Bruce more than a few times (and sometimes on purpose) to the point that Bruce puts on the gloves and apron for Dick’s comfort, not his.

“Jason’s going to spend the night in Alfred’s room,” Bruce says as he slowly walks Dick back into the mansion, leaving a trail of water behind them that hisses and sparks before evaporating. “You’re more than welcome to stay in mine if you’d like.”

There’s a big window seat in front of Brue’s bay windows; Dick’s spent more than a few nights on the worn cushions to the point that even years later, Bruce still keeps a pillow and blanket tucked into the corner of the window.

“Yeah, yeah, I think… I think I might.” Dick knows he’s slurring. That whatever sugar he ate from his slushy is long gone. That exhausting himself by discharging all his electricity probably wasn’t the best idea because now Dick’s running on empty, but it’s nothing a few hours of sleep and some food can’t fix. “I just…” Dick stumbles when his vision briefly blacks out, and Bruce grabs him with a string of almost swears to keep Dick from face planting.

“For the love of- holy- on a cracker!”

Bruce turns them back towards the kitchen where he deposits Dick on the floor in the pantry, wedged in a corner so Dick can’t tip over, and then spends the next five minutes pouring Pixie sticks into Dick’s mouth. Magical exhaustion is basically the same exact feeling as being drunk minus any potential hangover, so Dick lets Bruce grab his cheeks and force him to make a fish face to get his mouth open.

Once Dick’s hands aren’t tingling, and he admits as much to Bruce, Bruce sits down beside him, rips the top off a Pixie stick for himself, and then tilts his head back. Dick goes back to licking a root beer flavored lollipop.

“You could have just driven home and gone to bed,” Bruce says slowly. “You didn’t have to get rid of everything. You didn’t have to do this.”

Dick shrugs; the tipsy/sleepy/low blood sugar feeling from total exhaustion is sort of nice. He’s careful not to do it too often, it’d be no better than getting blackout drunk every week or doing drugs for a high, but…

“Jason could have died,” Dick says around his lollipop before reaching for the container on the floor and a lemon flavored one. “If I hadn’t been there, he could have died. Or someone else. I don’t want that _in_ me.” Dick peels the wrapper off, licks it, and then crumples the waxy, colorful paper. “Does that make sense?” He shakes his head and sways a bit. “I’m so fucking drunk, Bruce.”

“You are not drunk,” Bruce says firmly, but he does go for another Pixie stick and carefully leans Dick’s head back. “Open.”

Dick’s still too uncoordinated to drink from a glass himself, so Bruce gets him an adult-sized Sippy cup used for just these occasions and fills it with watered down apple juice and ice. He’s at the sink when he catches Dick slowly scooching himself out of the pantry on his belly like some type of inchworm out of the corner of his eye. All Bruce has to do is whistle and wave an Air Head in Dick’s direction to get him to come back. Dick’s blood sugar is still dangerously low and could potentially be a serious medical emergency, but the droplets Dick’s leaving behind from his wet clothes are still sparking and disappearing, so Dick’s still in control and isn’t too far gone. Bruce hates seeing Dick like this, hates seeing him helpless and needy because Dick’s always been independent, proven he could take care of himself, but at the moment, he can’t even hold his own glass; Bruce is thankful for the little plastic grips on the curved handles.

“Drink all of that,” Bruce says firmly once Dick has been sat upright against a cabinet with his sippy cup. “Then shower and bed. I have to go tidy up the pantry.”

Dick’s far steadier on his feet when Bruce slings an arm around his shoulder, and by the time Dick comes out of Bruce’s bathroom in his pajamas, he’s mostly back to normal; he refuses to look Bruce in the eye and just curls up in the window seat with his blanket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V's hoping to update weekly, apparently on Tuesdays.

Nightwing hits the edge of the lake hip first and then goes sliding out across the ice and snow in an uncontrolled tailspin until his momentum finally gives out; Killer Croc might be slower in the winter months, but he’s no less ferocious. Nothing feels broken, sore as hell and bruised, but not broken, so Nightwing rolls onto his belly and then freezes when the ice beneath him groans.

He can see Robin still tangling with Croc at the outskirts of the woods, but it seems like Robin is steadily gaining the upper hand; Jason is small but mighty. And, given the absolute roar, ticked off. Robin dodges Croc’s tail, swings himself up onto the creature, and then locks his legs around Croc’s neck and uses their combined momentum to bring them crashing down. Robin, unfortunately, gets caught underneath when they fall, but Killer Croc is even unluckier; he clips his head on a snow-covered rock and goes still with a groan. Robin wiggles himself out from beneath Croc and limps to the edge of the lake.

“Nice one!” Nightwing calls from where he’s frozen out on the lake. “Mind throwing me a line?”

He’s a fantastic swimmer, carefully taught in the Manor’s heated pool beneath the watchful eye of Alfred and Bruce after Robin had almost drowned his third month on patrol, and while his winter suit is specifically designed for artic temperatures, there’s slashes and holes from Croc’s claws and teeth rendering the thermal features all but useless. That, and Nightwing’s out of grapples; he had tried tying Croc up in them, but Croc had sliced through the lines with his teeth like they were nothing.

Robin throws a line, and the end skitters across the ice. It bumps against Nightwing’s chest, and Nightwing is quick to wrap the end around his wrist. He shimmies forward a few inches and then stops when the ice starts to splinter. “Maybe you could pull and I can just help a little?” he suggests.

He can _hear_ Robin’s sigh from across the lake. “Yeah, sure.”

Nightwing makes it maybe all of three feet before the ice cracks. He takes a deep breath just before he gets dunked, and he just manages to grab the edge of the ice to keep the topmost part of his head and face dry. Even so, the chill takes his breath away, and water immediately begins to seep into his suit. He tries to pull himself back up onto the ice but stops when it keeps crumbling beneath his hands and weight.

“Nightwing!” Robin shouts.

“I’m okay!” Nightwing calls. “Just keep pulling!”

By the time Nightwing’s shallow enough to touch with his feet, he’s numb and shivering. He crawls out of the lake and right into Robin’s awaiting cape where he promptly collapses onto the snowy ground. His teeth are chattering too much to reply to any of Robin’s questions. How long had he been in the water?

“D-don’t,” Nightwing just managers to stutter out when air around them noticeably warms.

Robin switches from crouching to kneeling; he pulls Nightwing against his front and wraps his arms around him. One hand strays to his belt and presses down on a small medallion to summon the Batmobile which is halfway across town with Batman presumably taking down Scarecrow.

“You’re hypothermic,” Robin says simply. “Batmobile’s still ten minutes out. I don’t really see another option.”

Croc’s already bound hand, foot, and jaw, and the GCPD’s understaffed from a bad batch of Joker Venom going off the night before which means it going to be at least twenty, maybe thirty minutes before someone can show up and haul Croc off to Arkham. The snow below Robin and Nightwing has already melted into slush, and Robin staggers to his feet, dragging Nightwing with him, when the Batmobile finally pulls up, closely followed by a single paddy wagon. It’s barely above freezing, and there’s no cloud cover; the tips of Nightwing’s hair are already icing over.

Robin’s face is flushed, cheeks rosy and bangs sweaty and clinging to the sides of his face. He leans against the hood of the Batmobile with Nightwing still clinging to him for warmth only long enough to make sure Killer Croc gets properly cuffed and loaded before he hauls himself and Nightwing into the passenger seat. Robin sets the autopilot and turns the heat on full blast. Nightwing tugs off his mask with trembling fingers once they’re off and then tucks his nose against the underside of Robin’s chin with a shudder.

“I’m alright,” Nightwing murmurs against Robin’s neck. He still cold, but he’s not numb anymore. “You can stop.”

“I… I can’t…” Robin sounds pained.

Dick puts his hands on either side of Robin and pushes himself up so that he can get a better look at Jason. They’re too big to fit comfortably in the single seat, but Dick’s still cold and itching to grab onto his life-sized hot water bottle who is, now that Dick is looking, overheating.

“I told you not to,” Nightwing chides as he goes for the controls with his foot to turn the heat off before one hand goes for the catches on Robin’s armor. “Now Alfred’s going to have to take care of both of us.”

Robin shrugs and sits up just enough to lean his face against a chill, wet patch of Nightwing’s suit. It takes just a few seconds for the material to start to steam.

Alfred looks at the pair twined together in the Batmobile and sighs. If it were anyone else he’d suspect that he’d come upon some sort of tryst, but Dick’s still pale and a little blue in the face, and Jason’s breathing hard and sweating like he’s just run a marathon in the middle of the summer. Neither are in any immediate danger, so Alfred helps Dick out of the car first and leads him over to a cot already laden with warm blankets before returning for Robin.

“Cold shower. Now.” Alfred points.

Robin gets out of the Batmobile and drops pieces his armor as he goes, limping all the way. He detours to the edge of the platform instead of the showers. Alfred makes no comment when Jason, down to just a thin pair of leggings, sways, and then jumps. Dick’s already kicked his suit off and is busying burrowing under his blankets when he hears a splash; he hesitates for a just a moment before returning to his task.

“A perfect 10,” Alfred notes while he goes for a tray and offers a cup of tea to Dick.

“Jackknife?” Dick asks while he props himself up on one elbow to grab the mug.

Alfred nods, tugs another blanket up around Dick’s shoulders while he sips at the herbal tea, and Jason’s swearing at how cold the cave water is echoes off the walls.

“Better?” Alfred asks dryly when Jason comes hobbling up the stairs, soaking wet, steaming slightly, and looking incredibly grumpy.

Jason just grunts, heads off to the showers, and returns in his pajamas. He lets Alfred wrap his ankle, feed him a watered down slushy that’s mostly just ice water, and then Alfred gives the all clear. Dick’s already dozing, but he makes room for Jason who’s going to stay up until Bruce returns.

“You’re so _warm_ ,” Dick gushes as he wraps himself around Jason. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love your magic?”

Jason’s still pink in the face which hides most of his blush.


	3. Chapter 3

Batman props Robin up in the crook of one arm and goes for the little baggie of smelling salts in his belt. Robin sits up with a gasp once the ammonia hits his nose, and then he starts to cough on the haze of pollen in the air. Batman throws his cape over them both.

“Robin?”

“‘m fine.” Robin rubs at his nose with the edge of his cape. “Where’s Ivy?”

“Nightwing’s got her.” Batman blinks behind the thinned lenses in his cowl. “But these plants are going to bloom with or without her.”

The entire ten block area of condemned buildings is crawling with vines and buds as big as Robin’s head. They’re not toxic, not quite yet, but once they’re exposed to enough sun and air, the spores will be.

“We don’t have enough time to cut everything down,” Batman says. “And it will take too long to gather all the buds.”

“We could burn it,” Robin suggests immediately while his hand goes to a few of the incendiaries on his belt.

“Even if Nightwing and GCPD helped, we wouldn’t have time.” Batman tips his chin is a very meaningful way. “You know I would never ask you to do something you’re not comfortable doing-”

“I’ll do it,” Robin interrupts. “I _have_ to.” He offers a cocky grin, but there’s a tremble in his hands that suggests otherwise.

“I’ll be with you the entire time.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Jason’s magic isn’t quite as powerful as Dick’s, but it is a little more wild, a little more emotionally driven. Jason’s suppressed it and buried it beneath too many accidental fires and beatings; he had smothered it to the best of his ability, stamped on it until it went out. But magic isn’t something so easily given up, and after some coaxing and training and permission to _burn_ , Jason’s got a handle on it. He’s talented, a natural by most standards, but still hesitant, overly cautious, and not quite as confident as people might believe.

Robin starts at the corner of one city block while Batman dons the suit meant for facing down Firefly; he won’t leave Robin alone, but he’s not stupid enough to walk into an inferno without protection. Robin’s already got a full facemask on to block the smoke and pollen and permission to let loose; Nightwing and GCPD have already canvassed the buildings, and there’s no one and nothing to hurt but the vines. So Robin starts at one corner, sets fire to one building, and waits for the flames to catch before moving onto the next. Batman follows a few steps behind.

“These things are _green_ ,” Nightwing complains over the comms and from where he’s started on the opposite side on their grid. “They’re just sort of smoking.”

“You might need to try harder,” Batman supplies.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were trying to light some fresh plants on fire using nothing but electricity,” Nightwing huffs. “My apologies.”

Robin laughs a bit; he’s definitely having more luck, but there’s still a significant amount of magic needed to light the plants on fire.

“There’s no power lines around, are there?” Nightwing asks.

“The entire area has been condemned for years,” Batman says while Robin heads down and alley between two crumbling walls and drags his hands along the bricks as if in a trance; the plants catch fire beneath his gloves. Batman is quick to keep up with the teenager while his cape flutters behind him from the heat. “There hasn’t been any utilities available in that timeframe.”

“Figures.”

There’s a wind whisking all the smoke up and away from the city and fueling the fire, but it’s slow-going. Robin’s not going all out, and Batman isn’t going to press; there’s a thin line between control and out-of-control, and Jason’s toed it too many times for anyone to even think about asking him for more. Nightwing, on the other hand, has been working with his own magic for his entire life and is definitely open to a little more pressure.

“You could get struck by lightning,” Batman suggests in obvious jest.

Nightwing snorts over the comms. “You think any of these firetrucks come with generators?”

“They do.”

It soon becomes a competition of who can set more blocks on fire; it’s obvious Robin’s going to win, but Nightwing is sure as hell going to give it a good try. Robin and Batman can see arcs of bright white and blue lightning light up the area around Dick, and Robin counters with an inferno that starts to burn everything to the ground.

“Easy,” Batman says when he notices more than a fire fires sparking and turning blue. “Your focus is the vines. The buildings are just bonuses. There’s no need to rush.”

“Right, right. Yeah.”

It’s clear Robin understands the urgency of burning everything before the flowers open. He collapses forty-five minutes before dawn, totally spent. He simply crumples to the ground in a daze, and Batman makes the announcement that Robin’s no longer able to help. Robin takes 65% of the credit, Nightwing 20 %, and 15% goes to GCPD.

Of course, the front page headline displays a prominent picture of Nightwing bathed in firelight with sparks at his fingertips. Jason doesn’t see it for another twenty-four hours when he finally (fully) comes to with an IV in his arm and a promise of all the slushies he can eat for the next week by Bruce who is clearly proud beyond words but has also done nothing but worry.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based loosely on some of V's favorite memories with her friends. But don't be like Dick, listen to your doctor, and don't drink on your meds. And always swim with a sober buddy.

Dick freezes when he goes to light his fifth cigarette of the night, using the butt of his fourth, when he realizes he’s being watched. At first he thinks it’s Bruce, that’s he’s been caught chain-smoking red-handed and he’s going to be grounded for the foreseeable future despite the fact that Dick’s a full-grown adult. Or that Alfred’s going to march him inside by his ear and spank him for the filthy habit and then ground him from vigilante work for the foreseeable future. But they’re both on a four-week long Wayne enterprises tour of Asia which is the only reason why Dick had gotten himself a pack of menthols and come to the Manor; he had known there was no way Bruce or Alfred could catch him smoking.

“How long have you been there?” Dick asks once he’s lit his fifth cigarette and blown a good amount of smoke up into the nearby frostbitten trellis where Jason’s crouched.

“Long enough.” Jason drops down onto the patio and then stands in front of Dick with his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I wasn’t really even trying to be that quiet. I slipped when I jumped from the Manor’s roof onto the trellis. You didn’t hear me.”

Dick just shrugs then sucks on his cigarette. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I smelled the smoke.” 

Dick raises an eyebrow. “And why did you have your window open when it’s below freezing? It’s almost three a.m.”

“I was smo-” Jason cuts himself off and then looks at the ground. He holds one hand out. “Can I have one? Alfred found my stash.”

Dick groans and exhales a lungful’s worth of smoke. “Please tell me you don’t actually smoke.”

Jason shrugs and looks pointedly at Dick’s pack. “Do you? I know you’re not supposed to smoke on your meds.”

Dick just smiles around his cigarette and then jerks his head towards the patio doors. “I keep a few bottles of booze hidden behind the soda. Go pick something out for us.”

“You’re not supposed to drink either,” Jason says slowly.

“You get us some drinks and heat up the pool, and I’ll give you as many cigarettes as you can smoke,” Dick tries instead. “And I know I’m not supposed to, but one night won’t kill me. I’ve done this before.”

Jason hesitates and then nods. He returns with two big glasses garnished with lime that smell like pine needles. He settles them in a snowbank and then pulls a second metal patio chair close to Dick. He touches his index finger to the metal, waits for the metal to heat up, melt the ice, and dry, before sitting. He notices Dick just barely shivering beneath his own mediocre winter coat and is kind enough to stretch his leg out until his bare ankle touches metal; Dick hums when the chair warms and then picks up their gin and tonics. They touch their glasses together, and Dick offers an untouched cigarette to Jason who leans in close enough to get a spark from Dick’s cancer stick.

“Magic makes it taste funny if I do it myself,” Jason says simply since he’s technically a walking lighter. They smoke and drink in silence for a few minutes. “So, there a reason you came all the way out here at three in the morning to smoke?” Jason wonders. “You knew Alfred and Bruce weren’t going to be here.”

Dick shrugs. “Just feeling a little down.” He’s quick to add, “Nothing unusual. Just a bad week. The usual meds only help so much during the winter.”

Jason nods slowly. “Finals?”

Dick snuffs out of his cigarette. “Finals, classes, the Team, the usual. Just a lot of little things… I wanted to come home for a bit. See if that helped.”

Jason hums quietly.

“Why are you up at three a.m. sneaking a cig?” Dick asks as he puts his drink aside and then goes for the pool cover. “I thought you liked high school.”

Jason shrugs; he does. But... “Just a lot of little things,” he says simply. “Was thinking about my mom. And other stuff.”

Dick pauses at pulling off the cover. “You want to talk about it?” Dick’s chair is bright orange by Jason’s bare skin, and Jason shifts his leg away.

“No, not really.” Jason finishes his cigarette in record time. “I, uh, used to smoke. Before. Uh. I lived here. Just a little.”

Dick knows precious little about Jason before he was adopted; he knows Jason had an abusive father who hid behind random acts of kindness, Jason found his mom dead after she had overdosed on heroin, and Jason spent more than a few months homeless and living on the streets in the middle of winter. All things considered, and being a vigilante where he’s regularly exposed to the worst Gotham has to offer and the horrors of humankind, Jason’s turns out pretty good. Or at least Dick thinks so; he’s way more likely to find Jason reading than he is smoking.

“Helps take the edge off?” Dick suggests as he finishes removing the pool cover.

There’s icy slush in the pool, and Dick starts pulling his clothes off while Jason finishes his cigarette and goes back to his gin and tonic.

“It helps,” Jason confirms before eyeing Dick. “You know we have, like, two fully functioning hot tubs, right? And a sauna?”

Dick nods. “I know. But I want the cold.”

Jason just sighs, rolls his eyes, and sits beside the pool and dips his hand into the slush. Dick gets down to his boxers, downs the rest of his drink in one shot, and then shudders. Jason’s gotten much better which his magic; there’s steam rising from the pool as the ice continues to melt, but Dick needs the sudden cold. A temporary shock to his system.

“Cannonball!”

“Dick, no-”

Dick hits the water, bites back a gasp at the cold as ice hits him in unmentionable places, and then he surfaces with a loud inhale and whips his head back to gets his wet bangs out of his face.

“You’re a dick,” Jason mutters while he begins to steam.

Dick’s teeth are already chattering, but it feels good. He feels _alive_. “Hey, come join me.”

Jason looks taken back. “ _Hell_ no.”

“Come on, it’ll be nice. Trust me.” Dick raises on hand from the water just enough to get the ends of his fingers to spark. “Trust me.”

Jason grumbles, finishes his gin and tonic, and then starts to strip. He jumps in, almost lands on Dick’s head on purpose, and then treads water while Dick heads for the nearest wall.

Electricity and water do not, on principle, mix. Too much of one over the other will put the other out, and the mix is generally lethal. But Dick knows he got neurons firing off in his whole body which is mostly made of water.

“I didn’t know you could do this,” Jason says when the entire pool begins to bubble.

It’s a strange sensation, swimming in carbonated salt water, but it’s far from unpleasant. Jason’s quick to reign in his magic before the pool actually starts to warm, and he and Dick spread themselves out on their backs.

“Do I need to tell Bruce you were smoking and got drunk?” Jason asks once he’s definitely buzzed.

“Nope.” Dick drifts somewhere to Jason’s left. “Just a bad week. This actually really helped.”

“Don’t you have pools at your college?” Jason presses.

“Yes, but I can’t smoke and get drunk in them at three in the morning,” Dick reminds. “That, and there’s a strict no magic usage policy for everyone’s safety. Too many drunk kids lighting stuff on fire or shorting out the grid.”

That hadn’t occurred to Jason before. He nods, lifts his head just enough to figure out where Dick is in the pool, and floats over to him so that Jason can link their pinky fingers together.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V's wifi has been malfunctioning all day, but it came back long enough tonight to let her post today's chapter.
> 
> A nice chunky bit this time. And it's V's fanfiction, so she gets to write all the fluffy brotherly bonding she wants. (Even if it's TOTALLY unrealistic.)

Jason _loves_ going after Firefly; there’s nothing the stalker can throw at Robin that he can’t handle. But sometimes Jason forgets that he’s the only one more or less immune to the man’s flamethrower. Sure, Bruce has his Firefly-Batsuit, but Nightwing has no such thing; his uniform might be fire-retardant, but it’s far from fireproof, and his magic can’t do jack against an entire two-block inferno.

Nightwing winds up pinned beneath a decorative metal scaffolding made entirely out of wrought iron. It’s solid, heavy, and more importantly, too thick for Dick’s magic to eat through no matter how much electricity he pours into it. The entire left sleeve of his uniform is gone, burned away by Firefly and some type of napalm, and Dick’s skin is already blistering.

“I need help,” Nightwing croaks into his comm while he tries and fails again to slip out from the scaffolding that had collapsed on top of him.

There’s fire burning through the moth-eaten drapes of the building, and given how fast it had spread, it’s clear that despite the age of the building, it had never been up to code in any way in terms of stopping fires. It’s one big death trap for anyone unlucky enough to be inside, but luckily for Nightwing and company, the building has been abandoned for years.

“I’m pinned,” Nightwing chokes out. “Robin, put the fire out.”

Smoke is already thick in the air, and Nightwing fumbles for one of the pouches at his waist and mask there to remove smoke inhalation from his list of current ways to die. Burning to death is still on the table, and Nightwing watches a few flames start to shrink before they continue to spread.

“I… I can’t!” Robin sounds panicked. “Whatever Firefly used to start the fires, that clear goo, it won’t… it’s fighting me.”

There’s a few naturally occurring substances that interfere with magic, namely two very rare species of mushroom, one type of black-hued onyx rock that is only found in a half dozen countries, and rosemary in very, very large quantities. Nightwing doesn’t smell anything in the air, but the mushrooms are potent in teaspoon amounts, and there is a plant-themed villain in Gotham who’s known for her fondness of rare flora. It’s entirely possible Firefly and Poison Ivy brokered some sort of deal, and all it would take is one dried up mushroom ground up into dust and mixed into the gel to render Robin’s magic all but useless.

“Hold on, Nightwing, Robin’s coming for you,” Batman says, and two collapsed beams that land uncomfortably close to Nightwing later, Robin appears.

He’s got his cape pulled protectively around himself to ward off the fire that can and will burn him and his own mask strapped over the lower half off his face to stop the smoke. Even from a distance, it’s clear that he’s uneasy, no doubt uncomfortable being in a burning building that he can’t control or put out. But Nightwing has more pressing problems, namely the fact that he thinks he’s slowly suffocating from the weight on his chest. Breathing is incredibly difficult, and things are starting to blur around the edges.

“Help.”

Nightwing’s gloved hand flops against the floor from where he’s been trying to get the scaffolding off himself.

“Nightwing!” Robin grabs the metal, tries to lift, and fails. “It’s too heavy!”

Not even with Batman could they lift the massive piece, so Robin looks around for an intact piece of wall, fires his grapple, and attaches the end to the metal. It lifts the scaffolding just enough for Nightwing to wriggle out and Robin to help pull him free. The wall starts to collapse seconds later, and Robin ignores Nightwing’s hiss of pain and comment that he thinks some of his ribs are broken.

“Everything’s coming down,” Robin says and he slides to a stop and tugs Nightwing close to him to avoid being hit by another fallen support beam. “I barely made it in to get to you. We’re never going to make it out in time.”

“We’re going to try,” Nightwing insists, but Robin grabs him and drags him over to the near wall and sits him down.

“No, we’re not.” Robin pulls his cape off and wraps it around Nightwing until he’s covered. “Everything’s going to fall down around us, and we’re going to stay right here. I can’t stop the fire, but I can make it worse. I’m going to burn anything that gets too close to us to ash.”

Nightwing can’t argue with the logic, so he curls up as best he can so that Robin’s fireproof cape can help protect him from the flames. He hears Robin’s boots shift until he’s sure Jason is standing over him, and then the roar of the fire and whoosh of flames suddenly gets a whole lot worse. It’s hot, way too hot, and Nightwing passes out shortly after.

He comes to in the blessedly cool and dark Cave, woozy from all the pain medication he’s no doubt on, and dying of thirst. Everything’s swimming in front of his face, but even with all the drugs, Dick can recognize a cup of ice water and bendy straw when it’s offered. He sips until his mouth and throat are sufficiently hydrated and then blinks and looks around. He’s the only one in the med bay as far as he can tell.

“Where’s Jason?” he asks Alfred. “What happened?”

Alfred doesn’t seem panicked, but it’s obvious in the slowness of the way he puts the cup aside that something has happened.

“Master Jason is in the hospital,” Alfred says with deliberate calmness. “That fire that Firefly set was downright nasty and did not play nicely with Robin’s magic. Master Bruce is with him.”

Dick’s stomach rolls. “Is… is he…”

“He’ll be just fine in a few weeks,” Alfred soothes. “Considering the circumstances, you are both very lucky.” Alfred looks pointedly at Dick’s arm which is already bandaged. “You came away with very minor burns. Master Jason wasn’t as lucky, but they’re not extensive.” Alfred touches his right side. “How Robin got burned across his side like he did is anyone’s guess. That, and the exhaustion was a touch too much for even myself and Master Bruce to feel comfortable handling.”

Dick nods. Alfred touches one of the dials by an IV drip.

“You should be resting like Master Jason is currently doing,” Alfred says. “If you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, I’d be happy to escort you for a brief visit.”

The drugs area already starting to pull Dick back under. “I’d like that.”

The visit goes well, but it’s clear Jason’s itching for _something_ based on the number of times he hints that Bruce should go get a coffee, or sandwich, or he should just go home since Jason’s going to be released the following day, and Dick already brought him his laptop, so it’s not like he needs company. But Bruce is oblivious to Jason’s obvious to want to get rid of him, even temporarily, so Dick pulls Bruce aside but within earshot of Jason.

“I know you’re worried about him,” Dick whispers, “But you’ve been with him since last night. I think you’re smothering him. Let him have a few hours to himself. Grab get an early dinner, pick something up for Jason and me, and we’ll eat together when you get back. Okay?”

Bruce clearly doesn’t want to leave, but Dick loudly asks Jason what he wants for dinner, and Jason picks a very specific Mexican restaurant halfway across town that has the best cactus enchiladas and notorious wait time, even for takeout.

Dick shuts the door once Bruce leaves and makes himself comfortable on the little pullout couch while Jason fiddles with one of his own blankets. He’s got all types of bandages peeking out beneath his hospital gown and a burn across the bridge of his nose that is entirely too close for comfort to his left eye. All the burns are expected to heal cleanly, and Jason’s always been tolerant of pain and discomfort, so Dick can’t imagine what’s making Jason so antsy to have Bruce leave.

“Dick?”

“Yes?” Probably better for Dick to play dumb and let Jason come to him.

“Tickets for prom went on sale yesterday,” Jason tells his lap, and Dick smiles; ah, yes, prom. He thinks Jason is a little sweet on a few girls, so he probably needs some advice. “I was going to ask you yesterday, but Firefly happened and…” Jason lifts his head, and Dick can see him starting to flush beneath his fire-induced tan. “Will you go to prom with me?”

Dick’s smile freezes on his face, and it must show, because Jason rushes on.

“As friends. Will you go to prom with me as friends?” Jason turns his head and goes back to fiddling with his blanket. “I don’t really want to go with an actual date.”

“And why’s that?” Dick asks with care. “I’m sure there’s plenty of people who would love to go with you.”

Jason shrugs. He’s been at private and prep school for years; it’s obvious he’ll never really mesh with the ultra-rich and Gotham’s so-called elite, but he has friends and gets good grades and is part of the lit club that meets every Tuesday after school. Dick wonders fleetingly if Jason’s going to come out to him in some fashion, but Jason just looks around his private room and refuses to meet Dick’s eyes.

“I don’t want to go to prom with expectations.” Jason bites his chapped lower lip. “I just want to go and dance and have fun and not worry about my date pressuring me into taking her down to Bruce’s shore house and breaking into his liquor stash and having sex.”

“You could just go stag,” Dick suggests slowly. “You don’t _have_ to take someone to prom. You can just go with your friends and have a good time.”

Jason shakes his head. “People are… they’re already whispering about me. Behind my back. That I’m going to pick one of them. That I’m going to…”

“You going to what?” Dick presses before slowly getting up off the couch and taking the empty chair beside Jason’s bed.

Jason shakes his head.

“Hey, I probably heard a lot worse,” Dick soothes. “You’re not Bruce Wayne’s first kid to go to prom. Come on, tell me. People think you’re going to what?”

“That I’m going to pick some girl and buy her a diamond necklace or whatever, and then we’re going to leave in a helicopter and I’m going to take her to Wayne Tower and we’re going to… you know…”

Dick just nods. “Very creative.” It’s obvious Jason is upset by the comments, more so that he should be, but Dick remembers high school and how important everything had seemed back then. “And if you take me to prom, no one’s going to bother you, right?”

Jason nods.

“You know, people might make fun of you for taking your brother to prom,” Dick reminds gently.

“I don’t care,” Jason grumbles. “At least you won’t fake liking me just in hopes of me getting you some dumb flowers and rocks and fucking you.”

“Jason!” Dick snaps before sighing.

“So, will you go to prom with me?” Jason repeats quietly.

“Yes, Jason, I’d be happy to go with prom with you.”

Jason smiles.

Jason doesn’t wind up getting Dick a diamond necklace, but he goes get him pale pink boutonniere that Dick reciprocates with a blood red one; Dick also gifts Jason with a set of diamond cufflinks that Bruce had been saving for Jason’s graduation, but it’s obvious the timeline fits better for prom. Dick carefully excuses himself from most of Jason’s prom pictures with his friends, but he does allow Jason to tug him into one photo of just the pair of them by the fountain at Wayne Manor close enough to blur the “we’re just going as friends, he’s my brother” excuse; Dick charges a few droplets of water to really get them to shine, and Jason starts overheating himself just enough to get just a hint of blush on his face. After that, it’s time for final goodbyes and goodnights and parental warnings about being responsible before everyone piles into the limo.

Jason and Dick are, by habit, night owls, so Jason’s ready for another six hours of partying by the time prom ends. A good chunk of people had left after only an hour or two in so that they could head down the shore for illegal underage drinking, but Jason’s crew and Dick finish up the night with one last slow dance and another pop song before Dick marches over to the DJ and demands he play another song, because there’s no way they’re ending the night on J-Kwon’s “Tipsy,” even if that is what most people are going to be doing once they get into their hotel.

Lights start to turn on for cleanup, but Dick goes for the nearest outlet, shouts an apology that he’ll fix everything once the song is over, and then the entire venue goes black. Strobe and differently colored lights begin to flash, and Dick can hear Jason and his friends start to laugh. Everyone starts to scream, “call on me!”, and Dick waits for the last few notes of the song to fade before he returns the electricity to its rightful place.

“That was so much fun,” Jason gushes as he holds onto Dick’s arm as they climb the front steps of the Manor. “Thanks for going.”

“Glad you enjoyed,” Dick replies as he goes for his keyring to unlock one of the massive double doors. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“How was prom?” Bruce calls from the parlor room closest to the front doors where he’s obviously camped himself out for their return. He looks like an expectant parent, wide awake with a dressing gown over his pajamas.

“So much fun,” Jason says with a big sigh as he drags himself over to Bruce and his armchair and wraps his arms around the man. “Dick made the DJ play an extra song and then messed with the lights.”

Dick just shrugs as he pulls off his jacket. “Just a little. It was a great time.” He offers a little wave. “I don’t know about anyone else, but I am not as young as I used to be.” Dick winks. “I’m off to bed. Goodnight.”

Jason makes himself comfortable in Bruce’s lap and begins to go through the highlights.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, cute chapter today.

Jason plops down onto his couch with a big smile on his face and huge sigh. He stretches his arms above his head and then eyes Dick as the man slowly makes his way around the almost empty snack table that had been decimated by Jason’s closest college and vigilante friends who had been more than happy to throw him a surprise birthday party a week before the actual date. Dick’s got a bag poorly hidden behind his back, and Jason sits up in interest; he had already opened gifts.

“You know, I opened presents like six hours ago,” Jason says while Dick perches himself on the arm of the second-hand couch. “And I know you were there, because you got me new jacket, and I said thank you.”

Dick just smiles. It’s late, and Jason’s a bit buzzed off his favorite beer, so he sits back and raises an eyebrow. He taps his index finger against his cheek.

“You forget my birthday kiss?” he asks with as much sass as he can, because he thought the tradition was French, but apparently it’s just an Alfred thing, and Jason _likes_ it.

Dick rolls his eyes, leans in, and peck’s Jason cheek. “I wasn’t sure if this would embarrass you,” Dick says softly. “So I waited. Happy Birthday, Jason.”

Dick pulls the gift out from behind his back and offers it in both hands. Jason takes the green and gold glittery bag stuffed with yellow tissue paper with care; he and Dick have gotten one another gag gifts over the years, but for Dick to wait for them to be alone to give it, Jason isn’t sure what to think. Half the fun of gag gifts are opening them in front of other people is the reaction.

“Will this hurt me?” Jason asks as he gives the bag a gentle shake.

“Not physically,” Dick says before bringing his finger up to cross his heart. “Promise. Emotionally? Well…”

Jason tentatively pulls the topmost pieces of tissue paper out and lays them aside for later. He dips one hand, encounters something soft, and then he grabs and pulls. He can’t help but gasp and stare at Dick.

“I think that maybe last time you were really hurt, Bruce and Alfred dumped your doped up ass on the couch to keep an eye on you,” Dick explains slowly. “And I think you cried until I brought this over from your dorm.” Dick smiles and cocks his head. “I think you got embarrassed when Roy stopped by for a surprise visit, and you shoved this in the couch and couldn’t find it and spent the next two weeks looking for it before you forgot about it. I think Ace took it thinking it was one of his, and I found it all chewed up in the middle of the living room.”

“But he’s… he’s perfect…” Jason’s got the old teddy bear crushed to his chest. And Alfred’s damn good with a needle, but-

“You know all those heartwarming videos about people going to teddy bear doctors?” Dick asks. “Turns out there’s one of those in Gotham. Dr. Stich N’ Fix. He does all types of things with stuffed animals. Cleanings, repairs, you name it.” Dick shrugs. “I wanted to give him back as soon as he was done being fixed, but I only just got him back last week, so I thought it’d be a nice birthday gift.”

Jason doesn’t want to cry, it’s just a dumb teddy bear, but it’s one of the few things he has from his mom and dad, and he _knows_ Dick understands what it means to him, because Dick’s got his even older and much more worn stuffed elephant on his bedside table. Jason blinks back tears and then gives up and starts to cry in earnest. He had been upset for weeks when he couldn’t find the damn thing; he had torn his dorm, Wayne Manor, and even Dick’s apartment apart looking for his bear, and spent more than a few nights in tears over the loss.

Dick slides onto the couch and hugs Jason around one shoulder while Jason hugs the bear and sobs. It takes more than a few minutes for Jason to calm down, and by the time he’s all cried out, he’s exhausted. Dick lays Jason down on the couch, shoves a pillow beneath his head, and then drapes a blanket over him.

“I’ll cleanup,” Dick offers. “I don’t want to hear it: it’s your birthday party, you don’t get to help.”

Jason grabs at Dick’s wrist. “Thank you.”


	7. Chapter 7

Red Hood’s got a lead on some type of mad scientist who’s been snapping up drugs and chemicals for some type of experiment, and a visit to Scarecrow in Arkham with the name had simply wielded a grimace and shudder.

“Yes, I’ve heard of him. He wanted some of the same compounds I did for my Fear Toxin. He told me exactly what he wanted to do… I’m afraid I didn’t have the stomach for it. Sadistic man.”

Hood had pressed the man for details.

“Very, very curious about magic. Possibly jealous that he didn’t have it, but that’s just my opinion. He was mostly concerned about the limits, about how far someone could be pushed before it was too much.”

Jason’s seen plenty of disturbing things in his life; it started in Crime Alley and he finished checking off boxes when he became a vigilante. There seems to be no end to human depravity or creativity, how _cruel_ people can be just because they can. But finding Dick Grayson inside one of Gotham power plants in obvious civilian wear, covered in what seems to be hundreds of leads and wires that snake off into the surrounding area, has got to one of the most disturbing things Jason has ever seen. There’s already electrical burns covering Dick, and he’s strapped into what looks to be some type of perverse electric chair given that the entire thing is made of metal and not wood. Despite his layers, Jason can feel all the hair on his body start to stick up once he opens one of the windows to get inside; the air is charged.

Elias Fortin weaves back and forth between machinery and occasionally stops in front of Dick to look him over and then jot something down on a clipboard. He’s covered in thick rubber from his boots to his apron to his hooded cape.

“Quite remarkable,” the man mutters before going for a dial and twisting.

Dick stiffens but otherwise doesn’t move, not that he has much room to work with; he’s strapped down good and seems to have a number of extra restraints about his neck and head. Red Hood knows better than to rush in; he could get Dick killed by accident, either from the machine or by the man.

“You’ve lasted much longer than the others,” Elias continues as he taps a dial with one finger. “By my calculations, you’ve absorbed what amounts to Gotham’s power supply for thirty-two hours over the past six hours with nothing to show for it except for a few minor electrical burns. Oh, and your eyes of course. But that seems to be a fairly common magical trait.”

Dick’s eyes are leaking wisps of blue, but it’s a steady stream. Jason can see sparks jumping erratically around Dick’s body in a way normal electricity never would. And his hair looks a little fluffier than normal, but it’s certainly not sticking up like Jason’s seen Dick’s hair do before.

“I wonder if you’re talented or just stubborn,” Elias says while Red Hood calls for immediate backup and a demand to kill the power within a ten mile radius. “Let’s see, shall we?”

A switch gets flipped, and Dick starts to scream. Jason’s heard plenty of people scream, Dick included, but it’s one of those primal noises that shoots straight to his core and sets his teeth on edge, because this isn’t a scream from touching seaweed or being surprised, this is torture. Dick only manages a few garbled words about stopping and please and then the dial gets turned again he’s jerking hard enough in his bonds to draw blood and yelling loud enough to set Jason’s ears ringing.

“He’s dying,” Red Hood says. “I can’t wait.”

He shoots Elias in the knee, pistol whips him in the head, and then the power plant sighs when it shuts down. The entire places goes black and then a few emergency lights flicker on. Dick keeps screaming. Jason can still hear the hum of electricity in the wires. He has no way to get them off, not when they’re live.

“Elias wired everything to suck power from all over so that there wasn’t a hot spot to trace,” Batman says through the comms. “Turning it all off will take time.”

“We don’t _have_ time,” Jason snaps.

A lot of the electrical burns are worse, and Jason can see a little monitor tracking Dick’s heartrate slowly creeping towards a heart attack.

“Cut the wires anyway you can,” Batman instructs. “Just a few of them, just to take the pressure off Dick. Agent A and I are working on cutting off the power to the surrounding areas.

Red Hood doesn’t carry anything useful for cutting wires that won’t kill him if he tries; there’s too much juice in them that will shock Jason the moment he cuts through the protective out layer, so Jason settles for peeling both his gloves off, pulling his helmet off, and burning through the lines. As soon as the last lead is cut, he slices Dick free of the chair, picks him up and steps over the live wires to a bare patch of floor.

“He’s still going to have a heart attack,” Jason says when Dick’s still shaking two minutes later and his heartrate enters definite “emergency medical assistance required” territory.

“Get him outside,” Batman instructs. “Have him grab onto something that’s alright being struck by lightning. He’ll be able to discharge most of his electricity that way. That should help. I’ll send the jet. ETA ten minutes.”

Jason pulls his gloves and helmet back on before picking Dick back up. There’s not much around, but there is a flagpole flying the company’s logo at half-mast. Dick isn’t screaming anymore, but the silence is almost worse than the noise.

“Dick, I’m safe!” Red Hood calls from where he’s sprinted halfway down the asphalt and laid himself down on the ground. “You can let go!”

Dick can just barely raise his hand to touch the flagpole. Jason’s thankful for his helmet and accompanying visor, because the flash of lighting is blinding. At first he thinks lighting has struck the pole, but it takes a few seconds for Jason to realize that the lighting is going in the opposite direction; it’s going out from the pole. Dick slumps a few minutes later, sparking and groaning while some of the electrical burns start to weep. The flag on the pole is nothing but wisps of burnt fabric.

“You’re alright,” Jason says as he hears the distinct roar or the Batplane in the distance and rapidly approaching. “You’re going to be fine.”

Dick’s eyes are still glowing.


	8. Chapter 8

Jason sighs, rolls his eyes, and then reaches the stylus in his hand out to tap at the corner Dick’s plate. “Eat,” he enunciates before going back to his schematics. He manages a few minutes of productive work before he puts the pen and tablet down. Dick’s still sitting and staring at his breakfast, wrapped up in a bathrobe over his pajamas and hair un-brushed. Jason pushes the plate another inch closer to the edge of the little wooden table. “Eat,” Jason repeats, but it’s softer this time. “Dick, you have to eat something.”

Dick lifts his head a bit at his name. He blinks slowly, and Jason sighs again. “You have to eat, Dick, or you’re going to feel even shittier later. You’re supposed to take your pills with food.”

They’re new antidepressants; apparently long-term usage of antitoxins for Fear Gas and Joker Venom are great for a building up a tolerance against the illegal chemicals, but they aren’t a good mix with the medication Dick’s been on for years. Jason knows Dick needs some time to adjust, he’s barely one week into the new prescription, but Dick’s stoned of out his mind. He had shown up to patrol the other night in a total haze, fatigued, unfocused, with his domino on upside-down and escrima sticks put on backwards. (And sure, the little sparky sticks are interchangeable, but even Jason knows they go on the back of Nightwing’s uniform, not the front.)

“Dick, eat something,” Jason almost pleads as he glances at the lone toasted English muffin smothered in cream cheese and blueberry preserves sitting on the plate. “Just half. A few bites.”

Dick grabs one slice and takes a small bite before putting it back down. Jason leans his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. He takes a few deep breaths and looks up.

“I’ll make you whatever you want,” he promises. “Or get you something else. Anything you’re craving, just name it.”

He’s seen Dick on new medications before, but it’s never been this bad. Or maybe Dick was better at hiding it when Jason was in high school. Either way, Jason’s thankful that Dick is comfortable enough to admit he’s needs someone with him while his body sorts everything out. Bonus points that Dick gets to stay at his loft instead of head back to the Manor; Jason can’t imagine Dick liking being back in his childhood room while Bruce smothers him with concern.

“Dick, what do you want to eat?” Jason tries instead, and he waits for Dick’s brain to register that it’s been asked a question.

Dick sucks on his tongue for a few seconds and then slowly raises one hand and makes a “shoo shoo” motion like he’s trying to brush off Jason’s question. “Garlic bread.”

“Great!” Jason stands up, glances at the clock, and sees that it’s barely nine in the morning. “How about some pasta to go with it?” he suggests. “Italian?”

Dick shrugs, pushes his plate away, and rests his cheek on the table. “Garlic bread,” he repeats sadly.

Jason doesn’t like to use the Wayne name to pressure people into doing things they normally wouldn’t do, Jason will get things done through his hard work, thank-you-very-much, but even he knows it’s easier to bribe the local five-star Italian joint into making dinner at nine in the morning than trying to bully or threaten them. They normally don’t deliver, either, but all Jason has to do is mention that he doesn’t feel like making the almost forty minute drive there before the person on the phone is making assurances that it won’t be a problem, can they just please confirm Jason’s address for delivery?

“Okay, I got some pierogis in the freezer for future meals,” Jason says as he grabs one big plate of food off the counter. “Minestrone soup is in the fridge, and I’m already looking at those calzones for lun- oh. Oh, okay.” Jason smiles; the container of cannolis is already half gone, and Dick finishes cramming one in his mouth with a shrug.

“Sorry,” he says thickly.

“No, no, glad you’re eating something. You still want some garlic bread and spaghetti?” The plate is big enough for the two of them to share, and Dick almost moans when he nods.

They wind up on the couch, and Jason manhandles Dick to lean against the arm of the couch when their plate is empty. Dick’s already half-asleep despite the sauce on his face, so Jason grabs a wet paper towel to clean up and then lies down, pulls Dick on top of him, and tugs on a throw blanket tossed over the back of the couch. Dick protests like a pissed off kitten when Jason scrubs at his face, mewling and pawing at Jason’s front, but once it’s over, Dick makes himself comfortable, scoots down to rest his head against Jason’s chest, and finally settles.

“Cold?” Jason asks when Dick start to squirm to try and pull the blanket closer around his shoulders. Dick just nods, and Jason shushes him. “Okay, okay, just hang on.”

Dick smiles against Jason’s shirt. “Remember when you’d give yourself heatstroke with that trick?” he mumbles before nuzzling closer. “Warm.”

“Comfy?”

“Mhm-hm.”

Jason hopes Dick will sleep for a good long while; the meds are clearly making him drowsy, but sleeping off some of the side effects are better than Dick wearing a hole in the carpet and pacing.

“Can I watch TV, or will the noise bother you?” Jason asks.

Dick just grunts, so Jason assumes that means it’s ok if he turns the volume down.


	9. Chapter 9

“He’s insane! Absolutely insane!” Scarecrow all but throws himself at Batman’s feet and offers his hands. “Lock me up, put me in the hospital, just get him away from me!”

Despite all the running water and condensation dripping down the walls of the underground cave, everything’s on fire. Batman lifts his cape to shield himself when fire starts to creep along the wall nearest him, eating up moss and puddles of water and leaving black scorch marks and glowing red-orange rock in its wake.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve tried to study fear,” Batman reminds as he cuffs Scarecrow, removes his burlap face covering that’s smoldering at the edges, and tosses it aside; a spark pounces onto the flammable material from the ground and soon the entire thing is engulfed in flames. “You forget how desperate some people can become when they’re frightened.”

“I’m _sorry_! Please, take me away! I didn’t think he’d… go crazy!”

“Red Hood’s not crazy,” Nightwing snaps as he walks down the tunnel and pauses just long enough to smack Crane upside the head. “You pumped him so full of Fear Toxin he went into fight-or-flight, and he chose fight. It’s not his fault you couldn’t keep him safely contained to study.”

“I gave him the antidote,” Scarecrow says in a rush while Batman drags him towards the mouth of the cave. “I gave double the usual dose when the first one didn’t work. I don’t know why, my formula-”

“I know you did something stupid with it,” Nightwing interrupts. “To try and make it ‘better.’ Now you have a gun-toting vigilante crime lord scared half to death, who won’t be able to tell friend and foe apart, who won’t let anyone get close enough to get a blood sample so we can make an effective antidote. Who, by the way, has a tremendous amount of firepower in every sense of the word, literally and figuratively. Did I miss anything?”

Scarecrow shakes his head. Batman doesn’t say anything, but he does look at Nightwing and remove his cape.

“I can try to get my Firefly armor-”

“By the time you get it and I put it on, things will be even worse.” Nightwing pulls the cloak on and unfolds a lip to get a hood to cover his head and part of his face “Red Hood doesn’t see me as a threat, not like you.” Which roughly translate to, “Jason likes me more than he does you.” “I’ll see if I can calm him down.” Nightwing leans over and taps the side of his boot where he’s already loaded up with Fear Toxin antidote, tranq, and powdered mushroom courtesy of Poison Ivy who does have a soft spot for Red Hood but is under no illusion that he wouldn’t burn everything she loved to the ground if he felt like he needed to. (Or mind control. It is Gotham.)

“Maybe get the fire department on standby though?” Nightwing suggests. There’s blue and purple tinges to the fire, and the blaze is still steadily crawling towards the mouth of the cave.

“Be careful,” Batman intones, and Nightwing just offers a little wave before sprinting down the tunnel.

It’s wicked hot, and Nightwing can feel his exposed skin start to burn; he wants to take his domino off, but it’s needed eye protection against the heat, embers, and ash, so he resolves to either get a spray tan or use tinted moisturizer to cover up the mask tan he’s going to have by the end of the night. He’s lucky Scarecrow managed to get Red Hood’s helmet off; without all the filters, Jason’s stuck breathing the same air Nightwing, which means no extra smoky fire or sucking up all the oxygen for better flames.

The tunnel opens up into a decently sized cavern, and Nightwing’s boots crunch the further in he goes; he guesses there must have been some type of body of water here recently, because he’s stepping on dried algae and moss. The entire area is on fire, up the walls and licking at the ceiling. There’s a purple-blue patch of fire nestled in one of the walls, and Nightwing approaches with extreme caution. Jason’s curled up in a ball, sniffling and shaking. He’s crying, but his tears evaporate as soon as they hit his face, leaving behind faint pink burns on his cheeks. His domino is barely attached to his face.

“I know you’re scared,” Nightwing starts, and the fire around him immediately pulses and grows. “But listen to my voice, Jason. Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real.”

Red Hood tucks his head between his legs. The ends of his coat begin to burn, which is Not Good because even when he’s out of control, Jason’s never burned himself. His clothes always remain intact. Nightwing crouches, and he barely bites back a hiss when Red Hood sits up and grabs his wrist. Nothing’s really fireproof, especially not with magic, and Nightwing’s suit is no different: it’s fire resistant. The material burns away and Nightwing resists jerking away when his skin begins to blister beneath Jason’s hand.

“Scarecrow dosed you with something,” Nightwing explains. “Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real. I know you’re scared, that you’re just trying to protect yourself. But everything’s on fire, Jason. You need to calm down. Just breathe. Just. Breathe.”

Red Hood does, and some of the flames shrink. His coat stops burning, and Nightwing manages to tug his arm away: it’s burned, but it’s not blackened, which means it’ll probably heal. And neatly, if he’s lucky.

“Do the… do the thing…”

“Huh?”

Red Hood bounces his palm against his forehead. “The thing.”

Nightwing winces. “You know I’m not comfortable doing that, it’s always a risk-”

“Do it!” Red Hood shouts, and the nearest flames grow.

“Alright, alright, I’ll do it,” Nightwing says in a rush. He peels off the glove on his injured arm and presses his index finger lightly against Jason’s forehead before sliding to his left temple. “I don’t like this.”

“Do. It.”

“Fine.”

Fear Toxin is made up of multiple compounds, some of which cause the brain to misfire and create some pretty convincing hallucinations. Nightwing had learned by accident, years ago, that a good zap could help negate some of the effects. But purposefully shocking someone still makes him nervous. Red Hood flinches away once Nightwing’s done, and then the fires slowly start to lessen and burn out. He sags against Nightwing, totally spent, and then he gets a glimpse of Nightwing’s wrist.

“It doesn’t hurt much,” Nightwing lies as he hides the limb behind his back. “What are the chances of you walking out of here?”

Red Hood just shakes his head. It’s stifling hot in the cave, and he’s exhausted. “Thirsty,” he mumbles.

Nightwing sits, throws the cape around both of them, and leans the sides of their heads together. “Sorry, out of water. But Batman said he’d get the fire department here. Come on.” He grabs one of Jason’s arms and pulls it around his shoulder. “Let’s see if we can meet them halfway there.”

GCPD is understandably wary of the Red Hood, a crime lord, violent vigilante, and occasional murderer. But the GCFD is a huge fan: Jason’s done wonders putting fires out and helping with controlled burns in parks and nature preserves. He’s one of the rare magic users who can really control fire and understand it as a force of creation and destruction simultaneously. Sure, he’s blown some things up, but he usually tries to limit the fire damage.

Nightwing smiles when his boots hit water, and he sends a big spark down traveling down the tunnel. The hoses spraying the cave walls stop, and then there’s voices. Nightwing lets one of the captains take up Red Hood’s free side, and then they head out into the daylight.

“Thirsty,” Red Hood repeats as he’s sat down on a big rock, but it’s really more of a pout.

“Alright, big guy, just be patient,” the captain says. “You don’t want to drink hose water.”

Jason gets one bottle to drink and another turned upside-down over his head. The water hisses a little and steams on contact, but Red Hood clearly doesn’t mind. Nightwing just sucks down another bottle and offers his burned wrist for inspection to one of the medics. He’s still got Batman’s cape wrapped around him, and the medic clucks their tongue a bit as they turn Nightwing’s arm a bit to get a full view of the burn.

“That hurt?” they ask.

“Yup.”

“Good. Means some of the nerves are still intact. You really need to see someone from the burn unit, this is nasty.”

Red Hood looks distinctly guilty beneath his domino. Nightwing kicks one of his armored-covered shins.

“You didn’t mean to, you were hallucinating,” he reminds. “If you try to apologize, I’ll zap your brain again.”

It’s an empty threat, but Red Hood relaxes just a touch. He’s still steaming, and the same medic switches gears from treating Nightwing to Red Hood. They’re obviously a seasoned pro, familiar with magic, and they motion to the cave.

“Any chance I can convince you to go take a dip?” the medic says seriously. “You still look like you’re overheating, and I know Fear Toxin usually raises body temperature. I’d feel better if you’d stop steaming.”

Red Hood growls, and but Nightwing motions irritably with his good arm. “Go,” he snaps.

There’s plenty of water in the air from the firefighters directing their hoses into the cave to smother what’s left of Red Hood’s fires. So Jason heads into the cave, just beyond the group of firefighters, stops, drops, and rolls in one of the ashy puddles. He comes out dirtier than he came in, but he’s no longer steaming.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> V doesn't want to label this story as done-done, but this is all she has left in her Word doc to share, and no little plot bunnies are running around her brain. If she ever types more, she'll be sure to share.

“Jason still feels guilty that he burned me,” Dick tells Alfred as he stands in front of his stove and stir-fries veggies; he’s not the best cook, but he’s got a few go-to recipes, mostly ones that don’t require much attention so Dick can pop in an earbud and talk with Alfred.

“And what makes you think that?” Alfred counters.

They’re on a video call, Dick’s phone propped up on the counter well out of the way in a little black stand/whiteboard combo that notes he needs to buy potatoes while Alfred has his setup on a little glass patio table inside one of the Manor’s sunrooms. He’s settled in a sturdy chair with a cup of tea and glossy tabloid magazine.

Dick shrugs and waves his spatula. “It’s been almost three weeks, I haven’t seen him do a single thing with his magic.” Dick’s wrist is mostly healed; he’s got the ok to continue life as usual. “He had me over last week for dinner, and…”

“And?” Alfred presses.

“And he made it real nice, got a tablecloth and everything. Well, a plastic one because we were having pasta, but it’s the thought that counts.”

“And?” Alfred repeats.

“He had a candle on the table, you know, for ambiance. And he lit it.” Dick leans back to look at Alfred on his phone. “With a lighter.”

“Oh, my.”

Once Jason had gotten control over his magic, he never lit anyone use a lighter; he volunteered to light candles, fireplaces, garbage, just because he could do it with a little wave of his hand five feet away.

“So I think he still feels guilty about Scarecrow,” Dick finishes.

Alfred folds his magazine and puts it aside. “And did asking Jason directly about how he’s feeling ever cross your mind?”

Dick grimaces and goes back to his frying pan.

“Or telling Jason you noticed he hadn’t been using his magic recently?”

“He’d deny it up and down,” Dick grumbles. “He’d deny it, make an excuse, something like that. He’d never admit it. Never.”

Which is likely: for all his outbursts and being under the influence of drugs or toxins, Jason’s rarely burned anyone by accident. Alfred can count the number of times it’s happened on one hand. Jason had smothered himself and his magic as a child to make sure it never happened.

“I still think you should talk with him about it,” Alfred suggests. “Gently, of course. Somewhere neutral, somewhere he can have an out if he so chooses. We both know how sensitive he can be.”

Jason’s definitely carrying around the guilt, and he’s trying to atone from it by not using his magic at all. Which Dick understands but also finds extremely messed up.

“What should I do?” Dick asks as he stirs. “If I suggest anything, Jason’s going to know something’s up. He’ll be suspicious.”

Alfred glances at the magazine that has taglines spread out across the front about betrayal, affairs, and fad diets. There’s also a little blurb about local Gotham celebrities and what charities they’ve attended recently. Bruce Wayne is numbered three on the worst-dressed list for a golf tournament he participated in due to wearing pink and white in honor of one of the foundations named after his mother: apparently wearing that with some type of purple pin is a sin.

“Leave it to me,” Alfred says as his eyes drift lower.

Jason tightens Galactic Supreme Alliance’s girth and then pets the grey dappled Andalusian’s neck with a grin; the horse sighs. Dick’s stationed down the aisle with a sturdy brown Hanoverian horse which such a long German name that everyone has just taken to calling him Gooba.

“We haven’t done this in years,” Jason notes with a big grin as he double checks everything before going to undo the crossties and grabbing the horse’s bridle. He turns GSA around, switches his grip to the reins, and waits for Dick to do the same.

“I’m glad Alfred set this up for us,” Dick agrees as they head out into the sun and toward one of the big wooden mounting blocks that’s actually more like a flight of steps.

They used to go riding all the time as kids; Dick already had a relationship with horses from the circus, and Jason had been initially terrified of the big animals when Bruce had suggested he take some riding lessons. But Jason wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, and he was determined to look as graceful as Dick and Bruce did when they went riding.

“I’m going to feel this tomorrow,” Jason notes as he settles into the saddle and heads after Dick.

There’s acres of woods and trails around Wayne Manor. Dick and Jason know every inch of it like the back of their hands, and Dick strikes out on a well-worn path that’ll eventually lead them to a nice big field where they’ll be able to give the horses their heads and gallop.

“So,” Jason says as he pulls up beside Dick.

Dick switches his reins to one hand, offers the free one, and open and closes his fingers a few times before Jason rolls his eyes and grabs Dick’s hand. They both have riding gloves on, but Jason can feel heat bleeding through the material. Dick’s helmet has a little visor on the front for the sun, as does Jason’s, and they both already put on sunscreen for any exposed bits of skin.

“So,” Jason repeats.

“Isn’t this nice?” Dick says with a little happy sigh.

The woods are pleasantly cool in the shade. Both horses are content to follow the path with very little prompting, and there’s saddlebags full of snacks and water just waiting to be opened.

“I know Alfred didn’t just decide to have us go riding,” Jason notes as he nudges GSA forward when the horse tries going after a branch. “I know you’re waiting to talk with me about something, I just don’t know what.”

Dick’s face falls. “You knew?”

Jason squeezes Dick’s hand. “Family of detectives, moron, but you really were subtle about it. Almost got away with it.”

“What gave me away?”

Jason shrugs. “Just little things, but mostly that you wanted to hold my hand before we even started trotting, which means you’re eager about something.”

Dick grimaces.

“Well, what is it?” Jason presses.

“A few weeks ago, the… accident.” Dick glances at his wrist which is mostly covered by his glove. “I haven’t seen you use your magic since.”

Jason tenses up, and his horse flicks an ear.

“I know you’re… repenting,” Dick says slowly. “Punishing yourself. Making sure it won’t happen again.”

Jason doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to immediately defend himself, excuse himself, or lie. “My magic should never hurt anyone I love. I couldn’t live with myself. I… I can’t.” Because even when Jason should have had the upper hand due to his magic, he never did anything to his blood father. Even though Dick thinks he would have deserved it and Jason would have been beyond justified.

“It was an accident,” Dick presses. “I’m _grateful_ you didn’t do anything more to me. You were basically hallucinating the scariest things your mind could come up with because of Scarecrow. You were in fight or flight, you chose fight, and you barely singed me.” Dick laughs a bit and squeezes Jason’s hand. “That is the definition of control.” Dick tugs Gooba’s head away from a patch of greenery. “I don’t like seeing you like this, Jason. Can we… can we talk about? Please?” Jason tries to pull his hand back, but Dick holds fast. “Please?” Dick repeats. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“I know it wasn’t my fault, not really,” Jason admits quietly as their horses continue to plod along. “But I can’t help but feel guilty. I _burned_ you, Dick.”

“Just a little.”

“A little is still something.” Jason sighs loudly. “That was one of my biggest fears, and still is. Burning someone.”

“You didn’t mean to.”

“I know, I know.” Jason shakes his head. “I still can’t help how I feel, and I feel guilty that I hurt you.”

Jason had been so nervous to practice with his magic, terrified of hurting someone. It had taken months for Bruce to coax him into just giving little things a try. But Bruce had never pushed, never scolded, and had allowed Jason to move and grow at his own pace. Dick’s thankful for it now: Jason’s control is something to be admired.

“I’m sorry, Dick.”

Dick just smiles and laces their fingers together. He wants to say something like, “not forgiven, since you don’t need to apologize,” but that’s not what Jason needs to hear. “You’re already forgiven, Jason. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I zapped your brain.”

“Even though I explicitly asked for it?” Jason counters.

“Yes.”

“You’re already forgiven, Dick.”

The ride in silence for a bit.

“So, we’re all good?” Dick asks.

Jason shrugs. “Better at least. Don’t… just please don’t press me to use my magic. I’ll use it when I want to. When I’m comfortable.”

“Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this platonic magic!AU, be on the lookout in the coming weeks. V has another little universe featuring Jason and Dick and magic she wants to post once she gets some type of ending together. It won't be as long, but it should still be another multi-chapter fic.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who commented/left kudos! V wasn't sure if anyone would like her fic, but she's been blown away by the feedback.


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